Every Hunter Has A Trick Up Their Sleeve (at least, they should)
by Quinny.555
Summary: Spencer Reid has one goal- replicate the Winchester's demon-killing knife. Part of my Every Hunter 'vers.


**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox.**

 **A/N: Another one-shot for this series, because I think its fun. Sorry to anyone reading my Criminal Minds fic, but I'm a little stuck there. Anyway, please tell me what you think about this! Reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated!**

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Reid sat at his desk, resisting the urge to rip his hair out in frustration. There is no way that this spell is so obscure that he just couldn't find it. Sure, he expected some resistance from the demons, what he was trying to accomplish could kill them after all, but this was ridiculous. Ever since the supernatural world had figured out that he was trying to recreate a demon killing blade, he had demons on his tail 24/7. Three had already tried to get to him at home, winding up in one of his many devil's traps. Bobby had helped as much as he could, as had his other contacts, but there was only so much you could do to find something that didn't want to be found. _Well, screw that._ Just as he thought it, he got a call. The contact was 'Alicia Banes', and he had a feeling she was calling with good news.

"Reid here," He said.

" _Spencer, I think I got what you're looking for."_ She said, and he smiled victoriously.

…

Reid stood above the altar, chanting in Latin and grinning like a madman. He had finally done it. The spell that the witch twins found for him was the final piece to the puzzle, but he mixed it with the others to create this masterpiece- or monstrosity if you thought about how many different cultures were being thrown into the same pot. And he didn't even have to sell his soul for it, as if he ever would. No, he learned that lesson from the Winchesters.

He also found out why this hadn't been used in centuries- it was only able to be done every hundred years or so if his research was correct, and he was right in that timeframe. He ground the lambs blood and parsley together into a bowl, his lips never stopping their motion as he threw a black powder into the fire, soon followed by the blood and herbs. Reid pulled out the knife he had chosen to be changed. It was larger than the original, and could fold down to more than half its size- it was expensive, but he was certain it was worth the money. He used said knife to slice his palm, letting the blood pool before dripping it into the flames.

" _Et spiritus damnatorum fiat!_ " He shouted, the incantation reaching its peak, and he threw the knife into the fire. It flared brightly for several seconds, and Reid had to cover his eyes until it went out abruptly. Still breathing heavily, he cautiously took his hand away from his face to stare at the knife covered in residual ash. He wrapped his still bleeding had in the bandages and cover his altar with a red tablecloth he had at the ready, then reached out to take the knife. It now had symbols burned into the fire resistant metal, he could see when he wiped it off with his sleeve. They looked similar to the ones in ruby's knife, but he knew they were different. They were a different language entirely, he could see when he really looked. The original was Latin and something else he hadn't been able to identify, but this one looked closer to… enochian. Not quite the same as the angel language, but close. Maybe a bastardized version of the ancient tongue.

Before he could think more on that, he heard the door to the old warehouse he was currently occupying creak under the pressure of multiple blows. The rusted metal bent despite the warding before the door flew off its hinges entirely. He readied for a fight, praying that the knife really worked. Three entered through the only doorway in the building, one staying behind to block the exit. All three focused on the knife, then the man himself, then on the tablecloth covered altar behind him.

"You really did it," Demon number one said, shaking his head. He then focused on the altar behind the young genius. "I'm sure our boss would love to know how you pulled this little thing off."

"This _little thing_?" Reid echoed incredulously, a little offended at the dismissal. "This 'little thing' is magic that has been lost for centuries, it-" He cut himself off, determined to not go off on a rant about the history of this particular magic to a demon who wanted to kill him.

"Yes, well, we will also be requiring that knife." The demon eyed it, determined but wary.

"I'm not so sorry to say that you won't be getting either of these." He said, and the demon sneered. Well, he had been sneering until Reid dropped a lighter on the tablecloth, and it went up like it had been doused in an accelerant.

"What have you done?" he all but screeched. Reid stepped away from the flames, brandishing the knife.

"Why do you all care so much anyway?" Reid asked, ignoring what the demon had said. "I mean, there are more than one of these knives floating around out there." one of the demons in the back charged, and Reid felt something akin to power flow through him when he struck out with the still dusty knife. The demon went down with the crackle of purple light, and he frowned. He was fairly certain that Ruby's knife made orange light when it killed, but he wasn't going to be picky if it did its job. "That all you got?" He panted, channeling his inner Dean to be as snarky as possible.

"Don't kill him!" A man with an accent said as he appeared right in front of the demons. He was on the short side, wearing a suit that looked expensive. Reid thought that it was possible he was an angel, with the way that he appeared out of nowhere until he noticed a flash of red in his eyes. A crossroads demon, then. And a high powered one, too, if the way the demons lowered their eyes subserviently was anything to go by. "We need him alive," He continued, and Reid tensed. Demons wanting him alive for any reason couldn't be good.

"Why's that?" Reid asked. He really did want to know, but he was procrastinating too.

"Well maybe," The demon said in a deceptively calm voice. "It's because you DESTROYED THE BLOODY SPELL AND IT'S ALTER!" everyone in the room flinched when the demon yelled. "Names Crowley, by the way." His voice was calm again, almost businesslike, and Reid was sure he was crazy; even by demon standards.

"...Sorry?" Reid said in response to the outburst. The demon chuckled.

"I'm sure you aren't, but that's not what I'm here about," Crowley said. "Do you know the Winchesters?" He asked, and Reid tensed even further. If Crowley wanted information about Sam and Dean, he was as good a place as any to get it. He nodded stiffly. "Then you know that they have friends in low places." With that, he whistled. The two demons behind him were taken down by what Reid assumed were hellhounds; he couldn't be sure, seeing as they were invisible to him. They were dead in seconds.

"The Winchesters sent you." He said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, well, I… _owed_ them one." He scowled, and Reid wondered what the brothers could have done to have a demon of all things indebted to them. There was a crash from outside the warehouse, and the demon cursed under his breath. "Bullocks." He hissed. Before he could protest, the demon strode up to him and grabbed his arm. The only thing that kept Rid from stabbing him right then and there was that the Winchesters sent him. He moved back quickly the second Crowley let go.

"Where are we?" He asked. The only thing illuminating the desolate crossroads they now stood in the center of was the moonlight. He was glad that the ritual could only have been performed on the night of a full moon, or it would have been next to impossible to see anything.

"A crossroads. Duh." The demon said snarkily. "It's hard enough to teleport myself anywhere, let alone with a passenger along for the ride."

"So you drew power from the crossroads, which is where most crossroads demons have any power at all," Reid concluded.

"Yes, well, I'm not just some punk ass crossroads demon. I'm the king of the crossroads, and I think that Moose and Squirrel forget that sometimes." He grumbled. "Next town is about four miles west of here." And then he was gone. Reid blew out a breath, running his hand through his hair and putting his knife away. He might as well start walking.

…

"It's done, so you can stop calling me every five minutes," Crowley said as he appeared in the shabby motel room.

"He's safe?" Sam asked. The demon snorted.

"As safe as someone who just made a demon-killing knife can be." Sam bitchfaced at that response.

"So he's out of immediate danger?" Dean clarified from where he was cleaning guns on his bed.

"Yes. Don't ask me for any more favors." And then he was gone.

"I can't believe we had to send a demon," Dean muttered.

"We never would have made it in time," Sam said as he pulled out his phone. He called Reid, but it went to voicemail.

"If he's smart, and we know he is, he didn't bring anything that could be used to track him," Dean remarked, and Sam sighed.

"So we'll just have to wait for him to call."

"Bingo," Dean said, and cocked his handgun, turning it around to make sure he didn't miss a spot.

…

The call came only a few hours later, with Reid informing them that he was only a few miles from their motel.

"Okay, we'll be there soon," Sam said, and Dean nodded.

"Just hold tight till we get there, kid," Dean told him.

"Okay," Reid's voice came over the speakerphone, and Sam was about to hang up when he spoke again. "And, guys? Thanks." He said in that awkward way of his before hanging up.

"He's just a lanky teddy bear," Dean muttered fondly as they walked out the door, and Sam couldn't help but agree. He just hoped that the kid's soft side didn't get him in trouble one of these days.


End file.
